Christmas Wish
by TolkienScholar
Summary: 2x20 AU: Dean wasn't strong enough to break himself out of the Wishverse. At least, not yet. After all, if he could live out a lifetime in the couple days it would take the djinn to bleed him dry, surely he could afford to stay just a little longer, right? Maybe long enough for his first real family Christmas since he was little? Or could the Winchester family luck ruin even that?


**Disclaimer: I do not own _Supernatural_. No copyright infringement is intended.**

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 **MC4A Fill Number:** FF; SoC; PP; NC; SIN; BAON; AC; Pregnancy Fears; Shipmas (Dean/Carmen); Long Haul; Fandom List C ( _Supernatural_ )  
 **Representations:** Dean Winchester; Winchester Family; Wishverse; Christmas; Djinns and Wish Granting; Hiding Weakness; Banter and Teasing; Pregnancy Reveal Gone Wrong  
 **Bonus Challenges:** Seven Gates, Under the Bridge, Tactile, Orchard, Mistletoe, Schooner, Second Verse (Creature Feature, Sitting Hummingbird, Misshapen Pods, Non-Traditional, Rediscovery, Not a Lamp) **  
WB Space Address:** 5C **  
Prompt:** Poinsettia **  
** **Word Count:** 1890

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 **A/N: This will be a multichapter story exploring what might have happened if Dean had chosen to remain in the Wishverse.** **Due to my personal scruples, this fic will assume that Dean and Carmen were already married in the Wishverse. For more information on the reason for this, please see my profile.**

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 **Lawrence, Kansas  
** **December 14, 2006  
** **7:36 PM**

"Mom, you're making way too big a deal about this," Dean says, picking up the vacuum cleaner and starting down the stairs. Mom follows close behind him, as if she intends to make off with the vacuum the second he gets it on the ground again. "It's Sam and Jess. They were literally _just_ here; they know what the house looks like."

"I know, I know," she replies. "But they've just finished a tough week of finals, and I want them to come home and feel like they can _relax._ "

"I promise you, Sammy's not gonna get all stressed out if the house doesn't look like _Better Homes and Gardens_." Dean sets the vacuum cleaner on the floor, and Mom heads for the living room with it, not bothering to acknowledge the comment. Dean stares after her, trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused.

Carmen ducks her head out of the bathroom and grins at him. Her dark hair is caught up in a messy topknot, little flyaways frizzy with sweat spilling down around her face. She brushes at them with her forearm, trying not to let the yellow rubber gloves touch her hair. She looks adorable.

"It's a female thing, Dean." she says with a wink. "Just go with it."

 _How on earth did a yahoo like me end up married to such perfection?_ he wonders for at least the hundredth time in the past nine days. Out loud, he says, "I don't want you two overdoing it, is all. Or should I say you three?" He wraps his wife in his arms and spreads a large hand over her stomach. "You sure Dean, Jr., doesn't mind women's work like cleaning bathrooms?"

"I don't know, you think Dean, Sr., would like to take over?" She twists away and swats playfully at him with a wet gloved hand.

Dean laughs and steps back to avoid the spray of water and Clorox. "Hm, I think it's time for me to go back to hanging Christmas lights."

"Smart move!" she agrees. Still, she lets him steal a kiss on the way out of the bathroom.

Just then the roar of the vacuum cleaner shuts off, and Mom reappears around the corner. "Dean, wait! Would you run to the store for me? We need a couple more poinsettias for the dining room; two of mine died over the summer."

"Poin—poin- _what_ , now?" Dean asks, though he's already digging the Impala's keys out of his pocket, glad for any excuse to escape the estrogen-fueled cleaning session.

"Poinsettias. The plants with the red leaves? Dean, dear, I've put them in the dining room bay window every Christmas since before you were born."

 _Which helps me exactly zero,_ Dean thinks, looking desperately to Carmen for rescue.

She laughs. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll grab one of the other ones and show him. Really, you men are hopeless!" She disappears into the dining room and comes back with a knobbly-looking plant that doesn't seem to have figured out autumn is over yet. "Like this. Make sure you buy ones with plenty of the flowers."

"Flowers?" Dean skeptically eyes the plant, which is decidedly flowerless.

"The red leaves, you idiot."

"Oh, of course, my bad. Opposites day, huh? Leaves are flowers, flowers are leaves?"

Carmen just rolls her eyes.

"Okay, okay, I'm going," says Dean, throwing his hands up with a grin. "Sure you don't want me to pick up a partridge in a pear tree while I'm out, too?"

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Dean is still grinning as he heads out to where the Impala is pulled up to the curb. His breath clouds the air as he walks; after last week's Indian summer, the weather has turned cold, though there's no snow as of yet. Still, he's holding out hope the djinn will come through with a real Bing Crosby White Christmas. It's his wish world after all, right?

His smile falters as he slams the car door shut, once again missing the answering slam of the passenger door. Every time. Every stinking time, and this time it's not even like Sam picked up and left him again, it's just this stupid alternate universe thing that in the process of granting his wish—that Mom never died—also decided to put Sammy halfway across the country from him again. Doesn't seem to matter the reason for the silence, though. He still can't stand it.

Sam will be here tomorrow, he reminds himself. Or at least, a version of him. The happy version of Sam, the version that's finally getting to follow his dream of going to law school, the version that's about to marry the love of his life. The version of Sam that told him, "Guess we just don't really have anything in common, you know?" But that's getting better. He can fix things with this Sam. And anyway, isn't Christmas supposed to be about peace and joy and love and all that crap? If there's any time of year for building bridges, this has got to be it.

 _Wouldn't be a problem with the real Sam,_ he thinks before he can stop himself. He and his brother had their share of bridge building to do after Stanford, but that's in the past now. And they had a good foundation to build on, growing up together, looking out for each other. Hunting together. Stuff he doesn't share with Sam in this world. Here, he's got his work cut out for him.

Of course, he doesn't have to stay. He knows the way out of the djinn's little dreamscape; he's got the key sitting in his coat pocket right now: a silver knife, still crusted with dried lamb's blood and some of his own. His one-way ticket back to the real world, to pain and loss and blood and sacrifice, to no Jessica and no happy, contented Sammy, no wife and no baby on the way, and most of all, no Mom.

He isn't ready for that just yet.

He knows he should go. Knows he's going to have to go soon. That was made clear enough his second night here, after he dug his way through his own peace and happiness to get to the truth, and then was too weak to follow it through to its conclusion. Yet. Always yet. They told him he could live out a whole lifetime in the couple of days it would take the djinn to bleed him dry, but he has no way of knowing how much time is really passing out there, and there's only so much blood loss a person can come back from. Maybe nine—no, almost ten—days is just a few minutes out there, or maybe it's more. He can't tell.

He did try. It was the day after the revelation, after he'd driven with Sam back to Lawrence through the rest of the night into the morning. Sam had slept most of the way; there wasn't much to talk about after Dean figured out he apparently had no memory whatsoever of the confrontation in the warehouse. The djinn must have wiped all its little fantasy characters' memories once they'd done their job of convincing him to stay. It's just as well. Real or not, Dean doesn't want them knowing how weak he is.

He'd tumbled into bed the second he'd gotten home. It was dark by the time he woke up; he must have slept through the rest of the day. He sat up, feeling hungry and disoriented, and _she_ was there. The girl. The other victim. He'd been so focused on his own little dream world that he'd forgotten he wasn't the only one bleeding out in the djinn's lair. And she didn't look like she had much time left. He reached out, found his coat where he'd tossed it on the floor, pulled out the bloody knife from the inside pocket.

 _So much for wishes,_ he thought as he brought it to his chest.

"Dean?"

Startled, Dean dropped the knife and tried to hide it in the bed sheets as the light flicked on.

"Oh, good, you're awake. I was starting to get concerned," Carmen said, coming into the room.

Dean looked back to where the girl had been. She was gone.

"Uh, no, honey, I'm fine," he said, forcing a grin onto his face. "Just—long road trip, you know?"

"Yeah, I know. Sam told us about it; quite the spontaneous one, aren't you?" She sat down on the bed beside him and began to rub his shoulder. "So, did you get some good brotherly bonding time in? I know you were wanting to try to patch things up with him."

"Uh, yeah," Dean mumbled. "Yeah, lots of good conversation. Chick flick moments galore." He winked at her. "Say, uh, you wouldn't happen to remember anything weird happening around, say, midnight last night, would you?"

"Mm, we got a bleach poisoning case in at the ER around that time. Though how you would know about that, I don't—"

"No, that's not what I meant. You know what, never mind."

"Okay." She smiled and moved in closer, her lips brushing lightly against his ear. "I have something important to tell you."

He allowed himself to enjoy the warm sensuality of her body against him, even while he attempted to shove the knife further out of sight among the sheets. "What's that?"

"I'm pregnant."

"Ow!"

And suddenly there was blood gushing from his thigh onto the sheets, and he had to somehow explain to her why he'd had a knife in the bed, though he could barely remember the reason himself because the only coherent thought his mind could form in that moment was, _I'm going to be a father._

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Pulling into the Walmart parking lot now, Dean winces at the memory. Rushing to the hospital for stitches wasn't exactly part of how he'd imagined finding out he was going to have a kid—not that he'd ever spent much time imagining it in the first place—but between shock and an overwhelming sense of wonder, he'd barely felt the pain. Now, looking back, he realizes that the djinn probably added that little element to his fantasy world to keep Dean from taking the express route out of it. But he can't seem to make himself care. He's going to be a dad.

He hasn't seen the girl since, nor any of the other victims. He isn't sure if that's because his mind has fully accepted the wish world—for now—or because Sammy has already ganked the genie. For the girl's sake, he hopes it's the latter.

Weak. That's what he is. Weak and selfish, to hold on so tightly to his own happiness when there are monsters to hunt and people to save. Dad would be ashamed of him. He can see him now, standing over him, arms folded, eyes more disappointed than angry.

" _I taught you better than this, Dean."_

"But you're not here, Dad!" The words explode out of him into the frosty air of the silent car. "What would you have done if you'd suddenly gotten Mom back? Even if you knew it wasn't real? Would you have been able to leave her?"

The frosty air has no answers for him.


End file.
